


Lost Memories

by miltonicsimile



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, One Shot, bc i love suffering, but mostly like, meanie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:10:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miltonicsimile/pseuds/miltonicsimile
Summary: When Wonwoo wakes up, he can't remember anything. The doctors tell him there was an accident, that he'll probably never remember things from before. Then, Wonwoo is given a collection of his old books, including his journal, and he thinks he's found the answers to who he was- his missing memories.But sometimes, it's easier not to remember.





	Lost Memories

**Author's Note:**

> i know i'm a hardcore verkwan(er?) but idk i felt like this was more meanie so take it, i'm sorry
> 
> also if you've ever tried to keep a journal and you're like me you never write in it unless:  
> 1) something big happens  
> 2) you're bored  
> 3)you wanna be deep  
> so lets keep this in mind bc its so fucking hard to keep a journal religiously tbh

It’s been two days since Wonwoo’s woken up. He doesn’t remember anything from before, but the doctors tell him there was a car crash, a terrible one, and that he’s probably never going to remember. Wonwoo still is trying to come to terms with it all, to smile and reassure the people who say they’re his parent’s that he’s okay.

It’s been two days since Wonwoo’s woken up, and the small woman with soft eyes and long dark braided hair has brought him a bag of books that she says are his favourites. Wonwoo doesn’t remember the woman, his own mother, and he doesn’t remember the books. The doctors said that he’ll remember some things, presidents, how to ride a bike, where Korea is on a map, but he won’t be able to recall his specific memories, his experience of it all. The doctors told him that the human mind is a complex thing, that they don’t understand it all yet, but there have been miracles.

Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s the type to believe in miracles.

Hospitals are boring Wonwoo finds, and thanks the woman, _his_ _mother_ , for the books. After she leaves, pressing a kiss into the top of his head, he looks through the bag. There’s several novels, an encyclopedia, and a worn leather notebook. They all seem familiar to him, he feels as if they really are _his_ , even if he can’t quite remember them. He likes reading, Wonwoo knows that, he likes learning. He knows these things about himself, even if he can’t remember graduating high school or what his favourite book is.

Wonwoo picks up the encyclopedia, an odd book to actually own and make us of, for the common person. His copy though is bookmarked, filled with coloured tabs and small neat writing in margins, his own personal notes. There are a few scattered markings, but the section on flora, on the different plant life, flowers specifically, is completely filled. The tulip, Wonwoo notices first, a large tab over it. _The tulip signifies a declaration of love. It also symbolizes fame and perfect love,_ it reads. Next to it, Wonwoo has written:  _Mingyu._

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know a Mingyu, he doesn’t remember a Mingyu. Family, friends, even classmates, have visited Wonwoo in the two days since he’s woken. He spent time, taking in each other their faces, their voices, their names, trying to learn them, to remember them. There was no Mingyu. He flips through the rest of the encyclopedia, looking for any answers or clues, but finds none.

Eventually, Wonwoo puts it aside and decides to try the leather notebook. When he opens it, he realizes it’s a journal, _his journal,_ and his heart is racing as he smooths out the pages to read. This is book contains everything he’s missing, this book contains Wonwoo’s memories. It holds the answers to everything he’s lost. He’ll remember who he is again.

 

 

 

_July 18, 2014_

_Dad gave me this notebook for my 18 th birthday yesterday, told me it reminded him of me when he saw it in the shop and couldn’t leave without it. It’s weird that people think about me when I’m not around, that things remind people of me. It’s a nice thought, I suppose. It makes me feel a bit more special, even if it was just Dad. I’d feel guilty for not at least trying to write in it now, even if it’s a bit of a dated practice, keeping a physical pen and paper journal._

_I think Dad was right though, I do like it. The notebook looks mature, educated, something an intelligent man would have on his bedside table. Mom told me it’d be good to express my thoughts somewhere since I apparently don’t do it enough for her._

_It’s a good habit though, and I will try to use it, even if it’s just lame thought to paper rubbish like today. It’s cool to think about being able to go back in ten years and read this, I wonder what 28-year-old me is thinking reading this – probably shaking his head at how juvenile my thoughts are, oh well._

 

 

 

_September 19, 2014_

_Forgot I had this journal, a great start in tracking my thoughts. It’s finally Friday at least, and I don’t have to worry about studying tonight. University isn’t that bad, but I’ve always liked learning. It’s the damn testing I hate. You can really tell some profs teach to test, not teach to learn. Oh academia._

 

 

 

_October 30 th, 2014_

_Went to see the movie Halloween, the original 1978 one tonight. I went alone, no one else wanting to go see an actual scary movie. I didn’t mind going alone though. I ended up sitting next to this boy named Mingyu, and he befriended me._

_He had also come alone, something I found hard to believe looking at the guy. He’s one of those impossibly good-looking bastards, tall and almost annoyingly nice. I couldn’t help but like him. He said he liked scary movies, but at some point, he had grabbed a hold of my forearm and just kept squeezing his eyes tighter and tighter. I let him though, it was kind of funny. After the movie was over he had looked so sheepish, but didn’t apologize._

_Mingyu’s a year younger than me, finishing high school still, but he didn’t seem to mind I was older. He gave me his number, told me to text if I ever want to hang out and watch another scary movie. I teased him, saying that I didn’t think scary movies were his thing. I think they are though, or at least, he wants them to be. “A bit of fear is healthy,” is what he told me. I can’t help but agree._

 

 

 

_December 20 th, 2014_

_I ran into Mingyu today on the subway, and he invited me to a New Years Eve party in Gangnam. I told him maybe, mostly because I don’t want to disappoint him if I overthink it and don’t even up going._

_We’ve only hung out a few times, gone to other movies, or gamed. I like genuinely like Mingyu, he’s not what he looks like. That is, he looks like a model and is a bit of a loser. I like it._

_I doubt he’d notice if I don’t go to the party though, I still think he’s the type who would have plenty of friends around him at parties, and people around him that want to be his friends. The world is always bit easier for people like him, and tall, good-looking, easy to get along with. It’s not a world I’m familiar with. It was still nice of him to invite me though._

 

 

 

_January 2 nd, 2015_

_Mingyu tried to be my New Years kiss._

_And I ran away._

_Why am I like this?_

_I did go to the party, I think my desire to see Mingyu again outweighed all the terrible possible social ills that could befall me. I found him right away, or well, he found me. I had texted him that I was almost there and he met me by the entrance, two booze laden cups in either hand. He was flashing his movie-star grin at me, at everyone that night, and called my name before I even saw him. Mingyu could wear literal rags and look like a god, but instead he had decided to wear a tight fitted white t-shirt and a leather jacket. I felt attacked._

_“Your hair is different,” Was the first thing out of my mouth, because I’m an idiot. It was though, the top lightened, the sides shaved shorter and kept black. It looked good._

_“Do you like?” Mingyu had asked, giving me one of the cups._

_“Yeah,” I so eloquently replied, because as I said, I’m an idiot._

_I spent the next hour being introduced to Mingyu’s countless friends, faces and names a blur quickly forgotten. Each time my cup emptied it seemed that Mingyu was handing me a new one with that damn smile of his, it makes everything seem good, it makes you want to do anything you can to see it again._

_At some point I felt his arm snake around my waist as he talked and laughed. I told myself it was for support, Mingyu had been drinking longer than me. That smile was still present, but his dark eyes were starting to glass over, the booze riding through his system. He probably didn’t want to lose me in the throng of people either, it was getting even more crowded and I didn’t know anyone else there. He’s nice like that._

_Before too long a girl was climbing up onto a table, her dress riding up too high, earning hoots. She called out “five minutes to midnight”, and I felt Mingyu lean down, breath hot against my ear._

_“Do you have a New Years kiss?” He asked._

_I remember shaking my head, not trusting myself to answer._

_The five minutes went faster than I had anticipated, time always does when you’re drunk, and I felt Mingyu pulling me around to face him._

_He looked so good, too damn good, it wasn’t fair. None of it was._

_They started the countdown. Ten, nine, eight, seven…_

_He cocked an eyebrow at me, asking, teasing, challenging, I don’t know._

_Six, five, four, three…_

_I saw Mingyu shrug and lean forward, towards me, and I took a step back._

_Two, one._

_I was leaving the room, I was pushing through the crowd to the door as everyone was cheering, shouting “happy new year!”._

_I think I heard Mingyu calling my name, drown out by the chaos, but it might just have been wishful thinking._

_So, there it is. The worst ending to the most embarrassing crush anyone could imagine brought to you by yours truly Jeon Wonwoo. Because if anyone knows how to ruin things, it’s me._

 

 

 

_January 16 th, 2015_

_Mingyu doesn’t hate me. He wasn’t making fun of me. He came to my apartment with flowers today._

_I never really cared for flowers, but he told me it’s damn hard to find flowers this time of year, but he did it just for me because that’s what you’re supposed to do in romance movies._

_I told him we’re not in a movie, and if we were the flowers would be roses, not tulips. He said I’d have to make due, or he’d take them back._

_I’m making due._

 

 

 

_March 1 st, 2015_

_I know I’m supposed to write really deep thoughts, and interesting observations I make in this notebook, but I feel the need to document that Kim fucking Mingyu sucked my dick today. It was a good day._

 

 

 

_July 22, 2015_

_Spent the day with Mingyu shopping. We had ice cream and it made the heat bearable. Mingyu makes everything bearable. He’d make walking through the depths of Hell, flames surrounding me, burning my hair, my skin with each step tolerable. It’s an odd thought, but I can’t imagine my life without him now. If I ever thought I was happy before Mingyu, I didn’t know happiness, not really._

 

 

 

_October 15 th, 2015_

_Cold and rainy day today. Mingyu stayed in my bed all day, refusing to get up, keeping me captive. I didn’t mind. The rain is so soothing against the window, blurring the city lights and sounds._

_Mingyu’s asleep now, and I finished the book I was reading. I was just laying here, looking at him, taking him in. He really is beautiful. I know Mingyu doesn’t like it when I tell him that, he doesn’t think it’s proper for a man to be beautiful, he wants to be handsome, he wants to be stoic. But Mingyu is beautiful, there’s no way around it._

_Mingyu is tall, toned but still soft where it matters. He says the worst thing about being tall is that there is more of him, and by that he means his skin. He hates his skin, says it’s too dark to be beautiful, but I love it. It’s warm and golden, it’s glowing and ethereal, it’s home. Mingyu has features of a Grecian statue, such classically elegant and aesthetically stunning I don’t know how he’s in my bed right now when he should be in a museum of fine arts. His lips are rosy and shaped by impossibly soft curves. His eyes are shut now, dark lashes ghosting the tops of cheeks. His eyes are striking though, dark and curved, piercing but laughing. A walking contradiction that only makes sense on Mingyu._

_But Mingyu is perfectly imperfect. There’s crust around his eyes from sleeping that’s been there all day, him not noticing, and me, too appreciative of the little details to tell him. His mouth is open as he sleeps, and his breathing is heavy, flirting with a snore, and his breath is terrible. There’s bold plum coloured marks on his neck and collarbones too, markings I can’t help but leave on him, to remind me if anything that despite is all, Mingyu can bruise too._

_Below his nose, on top of his lip, is the dark stubble peaking its way through, something he’d never leave the house with. He doesn’t mind with me though. He says he’s the most honest with me, and I hope I’m the most honest with him too. Mingyu doesn’t mind opening up, showing all the different sides to him, but it’s harder for me. I wish it wasn’t, because I think I love Mingyu, I really do._

_He’s going to wake soon, I can tell by the way he’s beginning to shift. I better get up and check if there’s something we can turn into supper in the kitchen._

 

 

 

_April 1 st, 2016_

_I wasn’t sure what to get Mingyu for his birthday that’s coming up. I have to find something to top the encyclopedia he got me for my birthday, a vintage find, with the most lovely illustrations. It wasn’t until later that I found the page with the flowers on it, found the tulip entry. A declaration of love._

_I think I might buy Mingyu some tulips for his birthday too, to go along with whatever else I end up giving. It’d be a nice full circle gesture, one special just to the two of us._

 

 

 

_December 10 th, 2016_

_Mingyu won’t tell his parents. About me. About us. Still._

_I haven’t even met them. I know it shouldn’t hurt, that it’s a big thing to do, but it does. It feels like he’s embarrassed and ashamed of me._

_I told him that I wasn’t fair for me, to be kept hidden. I told him to be honest with his parents, the world, himself. I told him not to call me until he was._

 

 

 

_December 22 nd, 2016_

_Mingyu called. Apologized. Told me he loved me._

_I’m going to his family’s Christmas Eve dinner. He told them about me, that he’s dating a boy._

_Mingyu wants to go to America for school._

_“Just a semester,” He said. “only a few months.”_

_I can’t help but feel this in a punishment of some form, not Mingyu’s idea but his parent’s. What better way to cure the gay (Mingyu is bi people) from your son than to send him away from his boyfriend for a few months. That will clear his mind, make him forget._

_And I think Mingyu’s going to do it. He says he’s always wanted to go, it’ll be an experience to learn so much. All I heard was that he wants to go, he wants to leave me._

_He wants to leave me , after all this time. Its like I mean nothing, that we mean nothing._

_Won the battle, lost the war._

_But I don’t want to lose Mingyu._

 

 

 

_February 14 th, 2017_

_I miss Mingyu so much it hurts. I miss the stupid every day things, like him cooking us supper in my small shitty apartment and me doing the dishes after. I miss hearing his laughter from the other room when he’s watching videos on his phone. I miss getting angry at him for being so clingy in public, and earning myself a pouty face. I miss it all._

_Part of me knows it’s selfish, that Mingyu is gaining life experience that he couldn’t get anywhere else. I know I should be happy for him, support him. It still hurts though, sleeping alone, knowing that part of the reason he’s gone is as a punishment from his parents. A punishment for loving me. Love shouldn’t be a punishment._

 

 

 

_April 6 th, 2017_

_It’s Mingyu’s 20 th birthday today. I facetimed him, throwing aside my pride. I haven’t been responding to his calls and texts like I know I should be, making excuses about the time differences and school and how busy I am. Busy being mad at myself, busy missing him._

_It was good to hear his voice and see his stupid face again. I told him I missed him._

 

 

 

_May 8 th, 2017_

_Mingyu is back from America._

_He looks different. His hair is different and so are his clothes. His laugh is the same though, so is his smile._

_God, I missed that smile._

_I forgave him for leaving and he said he still loved me, that every night he fell asleep to thoughts of me. I want to believe it, I really do. I love Mingyu still, I always will, no matter what happens_

 

 

 

Wonwoo slams the book shut.

He feels sick.

Then, he is sick.

Nurses rush in, clean him and strip the bed.

“Just a bad reaction to some of the medication,” one tells him. “Doctor said to keep an eye out for it. It’ll all be fine, just lay back down.”

So, Wonwoo does. He stares at the journal on the small bedside table, stuck, static, and unsure how to proceed. In those pages he could see himself, the person who he used to be. In those pages, written in his own handwriting, he was able to fall in love with Mingyu, _again_.

But, Wonwoo doesn’t remember Mingyu, not really. He can imagine everything in his own writing, can picture how it would be, feel who Mingyu was, know him in every sense of the word – but it’s a hollow thing, and it _hurts_. Wonwoo can tell he was in love with Mingyu, that Mingyu was in love with him – and _he can’t fucking remember him_. Wonwoo can’t remember the boy he was in love with, who he thought he would always love, no matter what. A cruel irony, a sadistic jape by fate. He can’t love Mingyu, not really, not like he used to, because Wonwoo can’t fucking remember him, just like everything else. He _hates_ it, he can’t stand being like this, not remembering any of it. It hurts, and it’s not fair.

 

 

 

_August 20 th, 2017_

_Mingyu wants to go to Busan, just the two of us. He says his dad would lend us his car for a few days and we can be free to explore the city, just the two of us. I told him it sounded like fun, if we can make it all work._

_I didn’t tell him it really doesn’t matter to me, I just love being with him, even after all this time._

 

 

 

+++++++

Later, after Wonwoo is done crying, his parents return.

“Where’s Mingyu?” He asks earnestly from his hospital bed. “Why hasn’t he come to visit me?”

A quick array of emotions passes over their faces, shock, confusion, fear, sadness, pity, all in the span of a few seconds. Wonwoo doesn’t like any of it, fueling his own fear, the deep suspicion in his stomach.

"You remember?” His father asks, holding Wonwoo’s mother’s hand. “You remember Mingyu? Do you remember anything else from before?”

“Where is Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks again, his voice shaking. “I want to see Mingyu.”

“Honey,” His mother replies softly, tears threating to spill over. “Mingyu was the one driving.”

+++++++

It’s been fourteen days since Wonwoo’s woken up. He doesn’t remember anything from before, but the doctors tell him there was a car crash, a terrible one, and that he’s probably never going to remember. Wonwoo still is trying to come to terms with it all, to smile and reassure the people who say they’re his parent’s that he’s okay.

He isn’t though. Wonwoo doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay, knowing all that he’s lost. Mingyu. The love of his life. Wonwoo isn’t the type to believe in miracles, and he doesn’t think he’ll be lucky enough to find love like that again. He doesn’t know if he would want that anyways. It almost hurts more, knowing that he’ll never remember Mingyu, not properly like he deserves. Wonwoo just has his own account of his time with Mingyu, an unreligious kept journal of infatuation, anger, and love. He’ll never remember Mingyu for what he was truly, Wonwoo just can’t _remember_ him, and it _hurts so much_.

It’s been months since the funeral, but Wonwoo missed it, comatose and utterly oblivious to his own loss. Wonwoo hasn’t decided whether or not to be angry with his mother yet, he doesn’t know her enough to really commit to a reaction yet. Was it a curse, being given his journal filled with memories of Mingyu, or was it a blessing? To be given a piece of himself back, his own words and account of things, even if it meant all this hurt. Wonwoo doesn’t know.

It’s New Year's Eve, and the ground is hard and dusted with snow. The cemetery is empty. He finds Mingyu after a few minutes, the snow crunching under his foot with each step.

It doesn’t hurt as much as Wonwoo thinks it would, as much as it _should._ That almost hurts more, knowing that he’ll never ache for Mingyu properly, Wonwoo will never miss him as he _should_ miss him.

He sets the bouquet of tulips in front of the cold stone with Mingyu’s name on it and walks away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> lol who else loves suffering  
> comment/yell at me below
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/checkinsbitch/)


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